


forget-me-not

by Sapphirianna



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Frisk, Mentions of Suicide, Self Harm, Suicide, UnderEcho AU, will add tags as fic goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6730345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphirianna/pseuds/Sapphirianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never changed. No one ever noticed him. No one spoke to him beyond necessary. Teachers did not call on him. Family never acknowledged him. He didn’t exist. So, one day, he goes to disappear for real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Frisk is male for story-writing purposes. Frisk’s gender has nothing to do with the universe mechanics.  
> UnderEcho is an extension/modification of Flowerfell and Flowertale. Mechanics of the universe will be revealed as the story progresses.

It was always the same story. It never changed. Day by day, Frisk found himself curled up on his bed by the evening, tucked away into himself. He stayed like that for hours on end, neither sleeping nor fully awake. Dead until morning. Deep purple circles dug into the skin under his eyes. His eyes were dead. When he “awoke”, he would paste the same small smile on his lips and pretended that today would be different. Not like anyone would notice.

 

But the days always repeated themselves. Always the same. Always the same classmates. Always the same teachers. Always the same mother. Always the same father.  Always the same brother. Always the same short, genius younger brother who always received the same treatment every day; he was lavished with attention.

 

Attention. Frisk was not familiar with the word. Not anymore, at least. By the time his little brother was born, Frisk had faded into the background no matter his cries of dismay. His belongings eventually began to disappear. It started slowly. A missing notebook here. A sweater suddenly gone. He found a precious old childhood toy in the garbage one day. When he went to ask why, his mother looked confused and apologized, only to once again toss the toy.

 

She’d forgotten.

 

Throughout most of his fifteen years alive, for all intents and purposes, he did not exist. Not to his parents. Not to his teachers. Not to his classmates. He faded slowly from the fabric of society. But against the obvious intent of nature, Frisk was still there, his blood still flowed. Still human, but an accident. An anomaly amidst normality.

 

Therefore, logic dictated that he should respond to the call of reality and, for all intents and purposes, disappear.

 

Disappearing was easy in the small town of Ebott. Its namesake mountain towered over the tiny town. The peak itself disappeared as it reached towards the clouds. A connection to the heavens. People called it the path to heaven. Or hell. It really depended on the person telling the story. People disappeared there. If someone climbed the mountain, they would be guaranteed to never be found again, despite the fact that many young teenagers throughout the vast history of the little village of Ebott had dared each other to climb.

 

Teenagers always played with local legends like that, no matter the warnings. Some returned, victorious in their little bet, and whispered about seeing shadows moving inside the mountain: ghosts of monsters past.

 

But some did not, and the funerals in the town of Ebott did not have a body to mourn.

 

So, one evening while Frisk’s mind wanted desperately to simply continue his nightly tradition of straddling unconsciousness in a haze, Frisk opened the window to the last moments of twilight and climbed out into the backyard. A brief moment of sheer panic gripped him as he stood outside of his window, suddenly unsure if he even wanted to do this. He gripped the windowsill tightly, the ridges of the wood digging into the palm of his hand. He stood there until he began to shiver in the approaching dark, frozen to the spot.

 

In a rush of bravery, Frisk fought off the anxiety and pushed away, a lonely raft amid the black. He stuck a hand into his back pocket and located his cell phone, desperately hoping that maybe the battery would be enough to light his way towards his destination. Thankfully, a few flicks of his fingertips and the phone emitted a bright white light, just enough for him to be able to see a few feet in front of him, and he pressed forward. He couldn’t allow himself to question his decision again, or he’d be locked in a battle with the screaming voice in his head that yelled for him to turn back. That it wasn’t worth it.

 

He ignored the voice.

 

He did not have to travel too far. His house was close to the perimeter of the base of the mountain. Frisk wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but the moon was full up, casting a dim silver glow that phased in and out of existence as the clouds drifted by. It wasn’t quite a full moon. The stars blinked in the sky, as if asking Frisk where he was going.

 

He stepped over the protruding roots of bare trees and dead grass, careful not to leave an obvious path behind him. Not like anyone would guess that he went anywhere but the mountain. If they’d even bother to look. A sudden pang in his chest spurred Frisk onward. A few more steps forward and Frisk paused, craning his neck to take in the sight before him.

 

There it was. Mount Ebott towered in front of him, a beautiful place of desperation.  A black silhouette against the backdrop of the heavens, an arm of rock stretching, reaching to the sky.

 

Frisk marvelled at the sheer majesty of the mountain, clutching his phone to his chest. He could make out an old path running up the side of the mountain, twisting around and around until it reached the very peak. A part of Frisk rose with curiosity, and he was then wondering if maybe, just maybe, he could touch the stars up there. Unconsciously, he lifted a hand, mimicking the mountain.

 

But the little voice returned and two full days passed with Frisk sitting at the base of the mountain. Alone. He hoped for the calling that would finally push him past the threshold, but nothing came. The voice of reason in the back of his mind quietly reminded him of the growing emptiness in his stomach and the constant shivering from the cold fall nights. Home. It spoke of home.

 

In a moment of weakness, he turned back, tears running down his face. He cursed himself for not going through with it all while he trekked slowly back to his home.

 

It was just past noon when he returned. Somewhat surprisingly, the window to his room had been closed. Part of Frisk shrivelled in fear as he approached the front door. He would be scolded for disappearing. He would be locked away, wouldn’t he? His hand stopped, just mere centimeters from the doorknob, but the emptiness gnawing in his gut spurred him forward.

 

The door opened with a click that seemed to echo throughout the house. Frisk peeked inside, brushing a lock of messy brown hair out of his eyes, and slowly closed the door behind him. It closed with a click equally as loud.

 

The entryway was silent, completely empty of people. His parents weren’t there, waiting anxiously for him, like a part of him had been hoping. Something within his soul told him that it really wasn’t that big of a surprise.

 

“Hello? Who’s there?” He heard his mother’s voice call out, and his heart hammered away in his chest. He anxiously waited, squirming uncomfortably.

 

His mother quickly entered the entryway, hands busy with cleaning a glass. Upon seeing Frisk, a look of complete confusion passed over her face for a brief moment before she grinned widely and warmly. The expression lasted only seconds, but Frisk had seen it clearly. He shuddered. It was an expression he’d seen much of in the previous months, every time she saw him.

 

“Have a good day at school?”

 

Frisk’s soul halted in his chest. It was noon. His breath caught in his throat painfully, and he silenced the pained sob that threatened to rip from his chest.

 

It was a Sunday.

 

Roughly two weeks passed, and Frisk barely left his room. Whenever he came into contact with his family, they would all give him this expression as if they’d never seen him before at first. Every day, the amount of time the expression settled on their faces got longer and longer. And his soul sank deeper and deeper in his chest every time.

 

Frisk’s room was nearly barren. The bed was still pushed against a wall. But his clothing, his dressers, his toys, they were all gone. All he had left was the striped sweater he wore and a pair of terribly ripped jeans that should have been thrown away a long time ago.

 

The straw that broke the camel’s back came sooner rather than later. That horrid expression that Frisk had learned to loathe suddenly settled on his mother’s face one cool Friday night and never left.

  
His mother did not recognize him at all.


	2. Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicide

The moon was out in full, bathing the crisp autumn chill in a swath of silver. The night was quiet, dreadfully quiet. No crickets chirped. No nocturnal creature stirred. Silence breathed in the autumn air. The stars overhead were burning brightly, relishing in the clear weather. No clouds obscured their glow. It was a beautiful night outside.

 

Frisk climbed, once again, out of his window, not even bothering to stop and ponder the gravity of his final decision. He would finally disappear. Make good on his silent promise to the world. No turning back. Never turning back. There was nothing to come back to this time. He didn’t even need his cell phone to light the way. The moonlight cast his figure in a silver glow, warm.

 

Something soothing called his soul forward, whispering his name into the night so softly, Frisk was sure that he hadn’t actually heard it. He breathed a sigh, and the air tasted sweet. Inviting. Like buttercups.

 

Again, he lost track of the time it took for him to trek to the base of the mountain, but when the mountain came into view, he raised his eyes to the sky where the mountain peak touched the stars. Instead of stopping, though, this time Frisk pressed forward, his feet crossing the threshold without even a single reproachful thought from that little voice in his head. If rationality called to him, he did not hear it. The other voices drowned it out.

 

They called his name. Softly. Sweetly. As if the flowers themselves were calling to him. Beckoning. They shivered in the autumn stillness, whispering his name as he passed.

 

It didn’t occur to him that the bright blue flowers littering the pathway were out of season.

 

The mountain seemed to catch the name, itself breathing his name to the sky. A quiet call to the full moon. A plea to the heavens. The mountain interceding on Frisk’s behalf.

 

Briefly, Frisk caught himself wondering which direction he was actually headed. A brittle, hopeful part of his soul asked for heaven, while the darkest corners of his mind whispered  _ hell _ .

 

The mountain pathway seemed to unfold before his feet. It twisted and turned gracefully. Frisk should have been exhausted forever ago, but the soft tug on his soul spurred him forward indefinitely. With each step he took, more and more tiny, blue, five-petaled flowers swayed in his wake. They lined the old rugged road. Moonlight glinted off the flowers, mixing silver and blue into an ethereal glow at the edges of his vision, begging for his attention.

 

His eyes, however, were cast upwards, following the pathway ahead tirelessly. At this point in his little pilgrimage, curiosity began to bubble in his core. Where did the pathway lead? Were the legends true? Was this the gateway to heaven? Or hell? Was he really about to meet his end?

 

Was he about to disappear completely?

 

His heart began to hammer in his chest, fear beginning to bleed through his veins. Trepidation slowed his feet, but as he grew sluggish still, suddenly terrified at the thought of vanishing from reality, the tug at his soul strengthened. The mountain peak was calling to him. Crying. Begging.

 

_ Frisk _ .

 

It breathed his name. Sweet. Soft. Intoxicatingly gentle.

 

He hesitated. His family. Would they mourn his loss? Would they know of his disappearance? Would they hold a funeral? What kinds of words would be said? Would they bury an empty casket, filled only with tears and wilting flowers? Would they cry for his loss? Would they look up at the mountain and curse it for luring him away?

 

_ Frisk _ , it said.  _ Please. _

 

No. The empty, confused expressions flashed across his mind. No. They would not. How could they? They did not remember him anymore.

 

He pushed forward once again. He was so close now. The air was beginning to thin. The air was dreadfully cold in his lungs. He felt like he could reach out and pluck one of the bright, glinting stars from the fabric of the night sky and cradle it to his chest. The moon was so big, casting the mountain in its silver train. A blanket of light on the peak of desperation. Frisk himself was wrapped in its glow. It comforted him.

 

Suddenly, the ground leveled out into a plateau of sorts. A single stretch of rock continued to reach upward into the sky at the far end of the little clearing, clawing for the stars. Like a hand, almost, slightly cupped and held vertical.

 

The flat ground was covered in flowers. It was a field of blue and silver, with a dot of yellow here and there. Little blue flowers blanketed the ground with little golden flowers peeking from the clusters, all reflecting the moonlight. Everything had flowers growing from it, save for one place.

 

Color dropped out of sight suddenly in the center of the clearing. Pitch darkness glared back at him, swallowing all light greedily.

 

Hell stared back at him.

 

Upon closer inspection, however, Frisk could tell that it was only a hole, widely yawning to reveal the insides of the mountain. The silver moonlight filtered down, bouncing off rock to rock. There was a slight purple hue to the stone that Frisk could see. He peered down the hole, a sense of foreboding suddenly filling his soul.

 

Here was his ticket to erase his existence. The fall certainly would be long enough. The rational part of his brain ticked out the numbers in rough estimates. Acceleration due to gravity is 9.8 meters per second. Velocity equals acceleration multiplied by time. Maybe his body would even reach terminal velocity. A sick sense of curiosity probed his feet forward to find out. He stopped himself at the edge of the hole. He finally noticed that he had been holding his breath.

 

Wait. Breathe.

 

He sucked in a deep breath, almost wincing at the burning chill the air brought to his lungs. He exhaled slowly, the little voice in his head returning full force, screaming at him to turn back. That he could find a new family if necessary. He could make it work. He could live and breathe again. Don’t disappear. Exist.

 

_ Frisk _ . The hole whispered. It called. Sweet voice. Soft voice.

 

_ Frisk _ .

 

A sharp intake of breath.

 

_ Frisk? _

  
Freefall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that I am a terrible person. Feel free to hate me.  
> Don't mind me. Just killing 15-year-old children.
> 
> ...or did I? :3c


End file.
